The Boy Who Didn't Want to Save the World

by Dominic Barker

  ‘Dig, dig, dig

  Don’t stop, don’t flag.

  Dig, dig, dig

  Don’t slow, don’t drag.

  Dig, dig, dig

  Don’t talk, don’t blab.

  Dig, dig, dig

  For the Lord Zoltab.

  It was repeated endlessly. Behind the diggers other figures wheeled away the earth in giant barrows. Blart’s muscles ached and his body cried for rest and water. But the thought of the cruel knotted lash kept him working.

  Only once did he stop, when the digger next to him slumped over his shovel and collapsed on the ground.

  Immediately the Chief’s whip snapped on his back.

  ‘Get up, you dog!’

  Again the whip cracked.

  ‘Up and dig, you idle scum!’

  But there was no response from the digger. He had gone to the only place where the pain of the lash could never touch him again. The Chief kicked the dead body.

  ‘What are you looking at?’ he yelled at Blart. ‘Get back to work before you get worse.’

  Blart began to dig frantically. When the barrows returned to remove the earth they took the corpse away.

  The dirge returned. The digging continued. Blart found himself chanting. It was the only way to keep going. The only way not to be whipped. But a way that was helping to free Zoltab and bring disaster to the world.

  Chapter 36

  ‘Cease!’

  The voice behind Blart was not the Chief’s but it was nevertheless a voice that he felt compelled to obey instantly. He turned round. Behind the Chief stood a tall black cloak. Blart could see neither face nor feet. All this thing amounted to was a voice. But it was a voice that had an effect on the Chief.

  ‘Master,’ he said, ‘they have not stopped. We have made much progress.’

  The Master did not respond.

  ‘Nobody could have done more in the time, Master. Nobody.’

  Still the Master remained silent.

  ‘Soon the Lord Zoltab will be free,’ said the Chief.

  ‘Do not speak of the Lord Zoltab,’ ordered the Master. ‘You are unworthy to utter his name. You know the rules. Your work rate is compared to that in the nearest sector. I have visited your nearest sector. They have dug further than you. You know what the punishment is for idleness.’

  ‘No!’ shrieked the Chief, falling to his knees. ‘We had a landslide and one of the men died. I cannot be held responsible for that. Have mercy, Master. I tried my best.’

  ‘Bury him alive,’ commanded the Master.

  Four of the diggers who had been whipped all day leapt forward.

  ‘No, Master, no,’ begged the terrified Chief. But his pleas for mercy were wasted. The four men dragged him off down a side tunnel and his cries were silenced.

  The Master did not wait for them to return. His hand shot out. It was the bony hand of an old man but it did not shake. One finger pointed straight at Blart.

  ‘You will be the new Chief of this section. Make sure you do a better job or tomorrow the same fate awaits you. Now, all of you return to the surface and eat and sleep.’

  And with that the Master was gone.

  The diggers began to shuffle to the back of the tunnel. Blart, Capablanca and Tungsten joined the line. None of them uttered a word, for anything they said could be overheard. Instead they began the slow climb up the roughly hewn steps that led to the surface.

  What met their eyes when they emerged from the tunnel would have turned a brave man’s entrails cold. Blart was not a brave man so there was a danger that his entrails might freeze entirely.

  The sky was like no sky that any man had ever seen before. One moment darkest black, the next a harsh orange as a fireball streaked across it. The angry light revealed hundreds of tents. Around each tent there were men, dwarves and other creatures. Zoltab had a vast army of followers. Behind loomed the shadow of a huge amphitheatre. It was the biggest thing Blart had ever seen. Built into it were four immense towers and at the top of these towers great fires burned. A minion saw him looking in awe at the terrifying structure.

  ‘The Terrorsium,’ said the minion with a mixture of fear and pride. ‘When Lord Zoltab comes it will be opened. And he will rule from there.’

  Capablanca and Tungsten were also gazing at the awful sight. What terrible deeds would take place when it was finally opened?

  All around them minions were streaming out of various entrances to the tunnels. Work was obviously over for the day. The minions made their way to a large tent. Blart, Capablanca and Tungsten followed them. They queued up and eventually reached a table where they were given a bowl, and then another table where an unappetising grey mixture was poured into it. Imitating those in front of them they thanked Zoltab for the food. No sooner was it received than the minions rushed outside the tent to gobble it down. This was the opportunity the questors had been waiting for and they managed to seat themselves some distance from the crowd where they could speak privately.

  ‘Why didn’t you do something?’ hissed Blart at Capablanca. ‘It was horrible down there.’

  ‘Zoltab’s Ministers are everywhere. If I’d used any magic they would have sensed it straight away. I must prepare myself for tomorrow. I will get only one chance and that will be in the morning when I will cast the greatest spell of my life to create the Cap of Eternal Doom which will seal Zoltab in for ever.’

  ‘But they’ll kill us,’ said Blart.

  ‘There are worse things thing than death,’ replied Capablanca. ‘If Zoltab’s minions tear us to pieces in anger after we have created the Cap of Eternal Doom then we have given our lives in a good cause.’

  ‘You never said I’d have to die,’ protested Blart.

  ‘Keep your voice down,’ ordered Capablanca.

  ‘But why am I here?’ demanded Blart. ‘I don’t have to do anything.’

  ‘I brought you here in case Zoltab had already been freed,’ said Capablanca. ‘Only you have the power to stand up to him. But as he hasn’t, then I may be able to deal with it myself.’

  ‘You mean I didn’t need to come?’ said Blart.

  ‘Well … er …’ Capablanca looked a little embarrassed. ‘That is how it looks like it’s going to turn out. But I wasn’t to know that when I began, was I?’

  ‘You mean I’m not going to be a hero?’ asked Blart.

  ‘Probably not,’ admitted Capablanca.

  It’s funny. However much you say you don’t want something as soon as someone says you can’t have it you find out that you always wanted it after all.

  ‘But you promised,’ insisted Blart. He felt that after all he’d been through he was entitled to be a hero. He conveniently forgot about all the times that he had tried to run away or get his companions caught. It seemed to him that the world had behaved very badly towards him.

  ‘Boy,’ said Capablanca, ‘did you not think it strange that I did not tell you what it was that had to be done by you to defeat Zoltab?’

  Blart thought about it. It did seem strange. But then everything that had happened to him lately seemed strange.

  ‘I will tell you because it will not now be necessary,’ continued Capablanca. ‘To defeat Zoltab and rob him of his powers blood directly from your heart would have to spill on to him. He would be defeated but you would die in the process.’

  Blart decided that maybe he didn’t want to be a hero after all. Then another thought occurred to him.

  ‘You mean you would have killed me to get rid of Zoltab?’

  ‘I’ve told you to keep your voice down,’ Capablanca reminded him, ‘or we’ll all perish. And when I stabbed you I wouldn’t have meant it personally.’

  ‘Oh, thanks.’

  Tungsten, who had been silent up to this point, suddenly shook himself and spoke.

  ‘You know,’ he told them, ‘I know that Zoltab’s minions are our enemies, but you’ve got to hand it to them. They can dig a decent tunnel. It could have been the work of dwarves.’

  And then
Tungsten returned to silent contemplation, which was perhaps for the best.

  ‘Now,’ said Capablanca, ‘I need to sleep because at the moment I’m too tired to conjure the greatest spell that a wizard has ever produced. I will have to use so much power that I may exhaust myself to the point of death in creating it. But you won’t hear me complaining.’

  Capablanca looked significantly at Blart but the look was lost on him as he had his mind on something else.

  ‘Are you going to cast your spell first thing in the morning?’ he asked Capablanca.

  ‘Of course. We cannot allow any more digging or Zoltab may be freed.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Blart, looking rather sad.

  ‘What?’ said Capablanca, who was still feeling a little bit bad that he had dragged Blart on a quest and that he wasn’t going to get to be a hero after all.

  ‘It’s just that I get to be Chief tomorrow. And I’ve never been a Chief before.’

  ‘But, boy, did you not see how a Chief is forced to act?’ asked Capablanca. ‘He must scourge his diggers until they work themselves to death. It is a horrific thing to do.’

  ‘I could still have a go,’ said Blart.

  ‘I wonder which tent we’re supposed to sleep in,’ Capablanca asked. ‘I must get a good night’s rest if I am to –’

  There was the sound of cheering around them. The diggers were getting up off the ground and half-walking, half-running towards something. Curiosity overcame the three companions and they joined the crowd. The sky was no lighter than it had been when they emerged from the tunnel and there was no clue as to what was causing all the excitement, but the momentum of the diggers carried them. They found themselves lining a crude, recently made road that led to the door of the Terrorsium. The diggers were cheering wildly. But there appeared to be nothing to cheer.

  Then they saw it. A wagon pulled by two horses. It made slow progress over the rough road but gradually it came closer to them. They could see two figures on the wagon but they could not make out anything more. As it passed, the diggers directly alongside cheered more loudly and waved their hands in the air. Capablanca tapped one on the shoulder.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘A great day. A great day. They have found Lord Zoltab’s bride-to-be.’

  ‘His bride-to-be?’ said Capablanca, astonished.

  ‘Indeed. After Lord Zoltab was buried deep in the Great Tunnel of Despair there was nobody to carry on his good work. It has taken many millennia for us to find and raise him. Zoltab will marry as soon as he is free and his wife will have child after child so that the seed of Zoltab spreads throughout the world and its glorious light can never be extinguished as it once was.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ said Capablanca.

  ‘The Ministers have searched the world for a woman who would be suitable to bear the children of Zoltab. And now they have found her and brought her here and when Zoltab is released they will be married in the Terrorsium and there will be much rejoicing.’

  ‘Hurrah!’ said Capablanca, remembering that he ought to be enthusiastic.

  ‘Hurrah, indeed,’ replied the digger. ‘Now, hush, for here she comes.’

  The wagon was indeed getting closer, but just at that moment the sky darkened and it was impossible to see who was in the wagon. But they were not to be disappointed for long. There was a tremendous crack and a huge bolt of lightning shot out of the sky and smashed into the ground behind the Terrorsium. It lit up the whole area and revealed Zoltab’s future wife to be …

  Princess Lois of Illyria.

  Chapter 37

  She stood in the wagon, glaring hatred at the cheering crowds. Her head was held high and her chin jutted out aggressively. Her eyes were a challenge to anyone who met her gaze.

  The wagon wobbled past towards the Terrorsium, leaving Blart and Capablanca open-mouthed. Tungsten the dwarf, who had, of course, never met her before, was unmoved.

  ‘By the bones of my grandmother,’ he said, ‘I wouldn’t want to marry a woman who didn’t have a beard. Look at that girl. Hardly a hair on her chin and someone’s going to marry her. Still, it takes all sorts, I suppose.’

  ‘Zoltab may rise and then worse be wed/To a noble woman back from the dead,’ said Capablanca. The prediction that they had read on the back of the map by the oasis so long ago began to make horrible sense. Princess Lois must have been pulled to a watery death and now, by some foul and terrible magic beyond even Capablanca’s comprehension, Zoltab’s Ministers had brought her back to life. And her terrible fate was now to be Zoltab’s bride.

  ‘G-g-g-g-ghost,’ said Blart.

  ‘What?’ enquired Tungsten.

  ‘Be quiet,’ ordered Capablanca desperately.

  ‘B-b-but she was p-p-pulled into the pool by the s-s-serpents,’ jabbered Blart.

  ‘Shut up,’ urged Capablanca. ‘You’re attracting attention.’

  Blart was. The crowd of minions, having lost sight of the wagon, was transferring its attention to the nearest thing of interest. And it was Blart.

  ‘B-b-but she’s dead!’ shouted Blart.

  ‘Who’s dead?’ demanded a minion.

  ‘Yes, who?’ asked another.

  ‘What happening?’ shouted a different voice.

  A crowd was beginning to form. Capablanca and Tungsten grabbed Blart and began to pull him away from the group.

  ‘Where are you taking him?’

  ‘He said they were dead.’

  ‘Who’s dead?’

  ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Send for a Minister.’

  ‘No,’ said Capablanca, holding up his hand. He could fool the minions of Zoltab but a Minister was a different matter. A Minister might spot something strange. And a Minister could do magic. But the crowd continued to swell. The minions of Zoltab lived in constant fear and anything out of the ordinary upset them.

  ‘Who do you think you are?’

  ‘Let me see.’

  ‘Who’s dead?’

  ‘Fellow minions,’ shouted Capablanca, ‘nobody is dead. We were just looking forward to the death of Zoltab’s enemies. My friend cried out in anticipation of the great day when Zoltab shall rule and those that oppose him shall be crushed underfoot.’

  The mood of the crowd changed with the words of the wizard. There were cheers and shouts.

  ‘Death to the enemies of Zoltab!’

  ‘Praise Lord Zoltab!’

  ‘Let Zoltab come!’

  And the chant of ‘Let Zoltab come!’ was taken up by the crowd and spread to the other minions, and soon the whole camp was chanting ‘Let Zoltab come!’ The sky exploded into bellows of thunder and sent down streak after streak of savagely forked lightning.

  The crisis had passed. The crowd’s interest had swung away from Blart. Aware that it could swing back, Capablanca ushered him away.

  ‘She’s dead,’ Blart insisted to Capablanca. ‘She was killed by serpents. Things that are dead and come back must be ghosts. What else could she be?’

  Now, Capablanca was, as he frequently reminded everybody, a very knowledgeable wizard. But all that learning in the Cavernous Library of Ping could not explain the reappearance of the Princess. She couldn’t be a ghost. But what other explanation was there? He realised he was going to have to use three words that he hated above all others.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he told Blart grumpily.

  Tungsten yawned.

  ‘Tungsten’s right,’ said Capablanca, surprising Tungsten, who was not aware that he had offered a suggestion. ‘We cannot be worrying about the Princess. We must get some sleep. Tomorrow I will rise early and cast the greatest spell in the history of wizardry.’

  ‘But –’ protested Blart.

  ‘Enough,’ ordered Capablanca. ‘There will be no more talk. Now is the time for action.’

  Having declared that now was the time for action, Capablanca started looking for somewhere to sleep. After pulling back the flaps of a few tents and finding them fille
d with sleeping minions, they eventually came to one which had a number of empty beds. The beds were made of nothing more than straw, and straw that had not been changed for many days. But they lay down anyway.

  ‘Capablanca,’ whispered Blart.

  ‘What?’ hissed back a plainly irritated wizard. ‘I’m trying to get some sleep.’

  ‘You know after you’ve cast the spell and rid the world of Zoltab for ever?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And then you’ve been captured by Zoltab’s angry Ministers and minions?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And they torture you and cut pieces off you and burn you and stretch you and beat you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Will you try not to tell them about me?’

  ‘If you don’t say another thing then I won’t mention your name,’ Capablanca told Blart.

  This silenced Blart. But it did not ease his mind. He lay in bed wondering how he was going to escape and where he would go once out of the reach of Zoltab’s minions. He had travelled great distances over land and sea and through many tunnels to get where he was. He had no idea how to get back to his grandfather’s farm. Even if he got away from the Terrorsium there would be much arduous travelling if he was ever to see his pigs again. He thought about his grandfather. His grandfather was old. He might have died while Blart had been away. Blart felt worried about this. Not, it has to be said, because of any great concern about his grandfather’s welfare but because there would be nobody left to look after his pigs.

  But no matter how great the worries of the mind eventually the body must have its rest. And after a time Blart slept.

  Chapter 38

  DONG!

  Blart’s eyes snapped open. He could hear cheering and yelling.

  DONG!